


Yours to Give

by mojo_da_jojo



Series: Join Me in Heaven, and Sorrow No More [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fenris Has Issues, Isabela is a Good Mom Friend, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojo_da_jojo/pseuds/mojo_da_jojo
Summary: A note on the series order: technically, this fic takes place at the same time asA Place for Ourselves,but you should definitely read A Place for Ourselves first, due to spoilers and plot-type things.This work is more of a side-story within the Sorrow No More 'verse, following Hawke's recovery after the events ofAlone to Be Forged Anew.I'd be calling it fic 6.5 instead of 7 if I could. Spoilers abound, so if you haven't read the rest of the series, go back and do that first!





	Yours to Give

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the series order: technically, this fic takes place at the same time as [A Place for Ourselves,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12621284/chapters/28756020) but you should definitely read A Place for Ourselves first, due to spoilers and plot-type things. 
> 
> This work is more of a side-story within the Sorrow No More 'verse, following Hawke's recovery after the events of [Alone to Be Forged Anew.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10648761/chapters/23562405) I'd be calling it fic 6.5 instead of 7 if I could. Spoilers abound, so if you haven't read the rest of the series, go back and do that first!

_My Creator, judge me whole:_  
_Find me well within Your grace._  
_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._  
_Tell me I have sung to Your approval._

_O Maker, hear my cry:_  
_Seat me by Your side in death._  
_Make me one within Your glory._  
_And let the world once more see Your favor._

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_  
_And comfort is only Yours to give._

_\- Transfigurations 12:4-6_

The _Aban-Ataashi_ is in port when Isabela arrives back in Llomerryn. Once upon a time, Isabela might have steered clear of a Qunari ship with a Qunari captain, but this is no Qunari ship, not anymore. 

The ship's presence is both helpful and foreboding, if she's being honest. On the one hand, it means she won't have to wait around in the city waiting for her to make port. On the other, it means she doesn't have time to figure out how to deliver the news she's carrying.

Not that she would have done much figuring-out, though. Isabela's always been a flying-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl. When she wears pants. Which isn't often.

"Shall I release the crew for shore leave, Admiral?" Martin calls as Isabela leaps over the railing of the _Siren's Reprise_ to land neatly on the dock.

"Not this time," Isabela says, "just have her resupplied. We'll be leaving again soon." _Hopefully,_ she doesn't add.

The _Aban-Ataashi_ is captained by Merada, a formidable Tal-Vashoth woman who specializes in hunting slavers. Her crew is mostly comprised of former slaves, some that she's freed herself and some that have joined from elsewhere. From what Isabela understands, they're paid a fair wage and are well-treated at sea. It's one of the reasons Isabela likes the other captain so much - despite her initial distrust of Qunari in general.

Merada isn't around when Isabela approaches her ship, but her first mate is - a young man whose name Isabela never remembers. "If you're looking for the captain, she's at the harbormaster's," he tells her.

"Actually, I was hoping to track down your quartermaster," Isabela says, and the first mate jerks his head towards town.

"Hag's End, last I heard," he says, and Isabela takes off in the tavern's direction without so much as a by-your-leave.

Hag's End is always a madhouse this time of year, with so many raider ships coming in and out for resupply and shore leave. Even with her captain-voice, Isabela has to shout at the bartender three times to be heard over the crowd, and it takes even longer to explain who she's looking for, but eventually she's directed to one of the meeting rooms in the back, reserved for captains and their officers.

"Try not to spend it all in the first day," says a familiar voice from beyond the room's closed door. "I know it can be overwhelming, but that's plenty to last you until we sail again. And if anyone gives you trouble, you come to me or to Captain Merada, understand?"

Isabela is nearly bowled over by the tiny elf that comes barging out of the meeting room then, clutching his newly-earned coin in both hands; he can't be any older than seventeen or eighteen. Isabela pokes her head in the door in his wake. "Recruiting them awfully young, now, aren't we?" she says.

Fenris doesn't _quite_ smile at her - he rarely does, even now - but his mouth does twist into his trademark wry smirk. "You know as well as I do that we don't 'recruit' anyone," he says, "they're free to do as they please, once we've found them." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms casually across his chest. "And since when has age ever been an issue for you, anyway?"

The raider's life suits Fenris, as Isabela had always suspected it would. She knows better than anyone else how easily one's burdens can be cast off upon the waves. He'd crewed with her for nearly four years before Merada had approached him with an offer to be her quartermaster, and though Isabela had of course been sorry to see him go, there was no doubt it was the right thing for him. He's become charmingly paternal towards the crew in his care, and if there's one thing he's always enjoyed, it's hunting slavers, Isabela knows.

He's acquired yet another earring since she'd last seen him a few months ago; she wonders what bet he lost for this one. Fenris has always been a shit gambler, though she doubts he's too upset about the piercings; his crew constantly tell him he needs to 'look the part.' He's let his hair grow out, too, long enough that he has to keep it pulled back into a tail at sea. He's put on a fair bit of muscle as well - not that he ever lacked in that regard, Isabela thinks appreciatively - and his skin is so sun-dark that the lyrium in his skin seems unnaturally white.

He's taken to this life like a fish to water, and he's almost as happy as Isabela has ever seen him; so naturally she's here to drag him out of it again.

"It's good to see you, Isabela," Fenris says. He frowns, peering at her. "What's wrong?"

It's a testament to how well they've come to know each other that he can even tell something's on her mind; Isabela knows how good her gambler's face is, and it's a long sight better than his. "I... received a letter, in Dairsmuid," she says. "A letter you should read."

She pulls Varric's letter from her bag and hands it over, settling into the seat opposite Fenris. The letter's crease is worn; she's read and re-read it probably a dozen times since receiving it, searching for... something, in its text. Answers, perhaps, though she only ever came up with more questions.

 _Isabela,_ it reads, which had been the first clue something was wrong - Varric's letters are ordinarily addressed to her as 'Rivaini,' the old affectionate nickname.

_Haven't been able to come up with an easy way to say this. Hawke is alive, and he's home in Kirkwall. If you know where Fenris is, he should know._

_Come as soon as you can. He isn't doing well._

_-Varric_

Isabela watches the lines deepen in Fenris' face as he reads the letter once, takes a deliberately deep breath, and reads it again. He stands up when he's finished, turning away to face a corner of the small room. His fingers tremble; Isabela pretends not to notice. She stays quiet, knowing he likely needs a few moments to process the information. She certainly had.

"Is this genuine?" Fenris asks finally.

It's a fair question; in the seven years since Hawke's death - or disappearance, Isabela supposes - there's been no shortage of rumors that the Champion had been suddenly sighted in some backwater swamp town, or appeared in a mysterious magical accident. They'd chased down a few of those rumors themselves, at first; eventually searching had caused more pain than it eased, though, and Fenris had been determined to let Hawke go.

"It's genuine," Isabela says. "I checked it against Varric's other letters; the handwriting matches. He wouldn't write unless he was absolutely sure, you know that."

Fenris nods.

"I'm going back to Kirkwall," she says, "and you're coming with me." She waits for him to answer, but he doesn't. 

"We have to," she tells him.

He nods again. Fenris has two responses to stress, in her experience: either he lashes out, or he shuts down completely. In this case, it seems to be the latter. She gets out of her chair, moving around towards him, and thunks her middle finger on the table twice in quick succession.

Fenris has been uncomfortable with physical contact for as long as she's known him, a lasting effect of a past full of ghosts. Still, they've grown immeasurably close in the many years since Kirkwall, and Isabela has learned to recognize when he needs touch - craves it, even. It's never good to surprise the man, though, and so she's developed a nonverbal sign that she's about to touch him, and always gives him plenty of time to object before she does.

He turns his head towards her, just barely, and reaches for her. She takes his left hand in her own, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. They're very nearly the same height; her chin fits neatly on his shoulder as she holds him.

"I thought," he starts, but doesn't finish.

"I know," Isabela says anyway.

They stand there for a long time before Fenris finally disentangles himself; he turns to slump against the wall, looking as tired as Isabela has ever seen him. "He's 'not doing well,'" he says quietly. "What does that mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she tells him. "I've got the _Reprise_ resupplying now. Martin should have her ready to sail by this evening, and I can have us in Kirkwall in three days."

"I should," Fenris begins, and clears his throat. "I'll tell Merada. She can - Luis can stand in for me, until..."

"Fenris," Isabela says gently, "there might not be an 'until.' Hawke could - he'll be fine, won't he?" She keeps her voice purposefully hopeful; she wouldn't exactly call herself an optimist, but then again everyone seems like an optimist next to Fenris. "We both know you'll want to stay with him. You can't tell Captain Merada you'll be back, you have to let her replace you."

 _And if you_ do _come back,_ she thinks but doesn't say, _I'm not letting you out of my sight or off my crew for a long, long time._

Fenris closes his eyes again. No matter how much he loves this life, Isabela knows, he'd give up much, much more to have the chance to see Hawke even just one more time.

"He's alive," she reminds him, "and that's good. I know you're - I know we're both frightened, and we've both been fooled, but - this is real. He's really alive, and we're really going to see him."

"He's alive," Fenris echoes, hope and fear warring on his face; he sets his shoulders. "I'll meet you at the _Reprise_ ," he says, "before dusk."

"You'd better," Isabela says, "or I just might leave without you."

"You wouldn't dare," Fenris challenges.

"...Maybe not this time," she admits. "This time, we're going home."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and messages give me life, and I can always be found on [Tumblr](http://mojo-da-jojo.tumblr.com)!


End file.
